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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264894">A Dagger and a Bottle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/artesiaminor/pseuds/artesiaminor'>artesiaminor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Post-Battle, Pre-Relationship, Sad Sylvain Jose Gautier, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/artesiaminor/pseuds/artesiaminor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On Sylvain's desk there is a bottle of liquor, a quarter drank. More full than Felix had anticipated, which meant either it was a new bottle or he really didn't give Sylvain enough credit. </p><p>It was next to a dagger. A dagger, likely a gift from Dimitri, propped up near his letters. Perhaps Sylvain reached for it when finishing up his letters to his father, a quiet little thought constantly strumming in the back of Sylvain's mind. </p><p>This was a conversation that needed to be had, at some point. Not tonight, however. Tonight, Felix had to be as much of a comfort as he was capable. </p><p>He hoped he was enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dagger and a Bottle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Technically, this is the sequel to Virtues Uncounted. HOWEVER, I'm not the biggest fan of how that fic ended up, so I tried to make this very much standalone. If you want to read it, it's here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324553</p><p> </p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They needed to go to bed.</p><p>By this point, the sun would be up before they slept at all. Dedue had cooked Sylvain some food from Duscur to make him feel better, a kindness and gentle quality that Felix could not help but be embittered about. He wasn’t good at this. For some reason, the Professor had assigned him to Sylvain duty (though he understood why, intuitively, as they were close friends and had known each other for years) but Felix did not think of kind little gestures such as that.</p><p>He was too cold. Too callous. Too personally involved, and hated Miklan far too much for him to be effective.</p><p>Yet, he was what Sylvain had. At the end of the night, after they’d toweled off from rinsing off the blood on their skin and eaten some food and warmed up from being outside in the pond, it was time to go to sleep. And Felix could see in Sylvain’s eyes that he didn’t want to be alone.</p><p>Felix wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone either.</p><p>He’d walked Sylvain to his door. Their conversations short, probably Felix’s fault, but Sylvain hadn’t been much of a conversationalist that evening either. He came to life in spurts, occasionally feeling the burden lifted off of him that he had killed his own brother, but it didn’t last long. Something reminded Sylvain every time, whether it was Felix on accident or just his own thoughts getting caught in the riptide, but he never went too long without falling back into the melancholy and confusion.</p><p>Walking from Sylvain’s door back to his own, Felix made a final effort to rid Sylvain’s mind of the battle.</p><p>“Agh, I can hear Claude messing about in his room from here,” Felix said.  He couldn’t, but Sylvain definitely wouldn’t be able to tell from where he was, and even if he could, it really didn’t matter.</p><p>It wasn’t a total lie, because Claude was always rummaging around somewhere, so often that Felix heard it even when Claude wasn’t in the room next over. In fact, if Felix had his schedule right, which countless nights next to the Golden Deer had sadly taught him well, he figured Claude was probably in the library. But again, it really didn’t matter. What Claude was doing wasn’t the point. </p><p>“Oh?” </p><p>“I battle every night between barging in to ask him what he’s doing or taking a sword to him.” Felix sighed. “Honestly, they should have put you two next to each other, not me.”</p><p>That made Sylvain laugh, light, but freer than he’d been before, to Felix’s relief. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“Everyone always talks about how brilliant Claude is. I’m unimpressed. I’ve yet to see him do anything you couldn’t.” Felix brushed his hands off on his pants. “Maybe if you worked with him you could help him find whatever damn answer he’s looking for, and then everyone could get a decent night’s sleep.” </p><p>Sylvain blinked. A small smile played at his lips, but he whispered, “Don’t go thinking too highly of me. I don’t want all that pressure.”</p><p>Felix stilled. The tone of the conversation yet again seemed to take a turn for the solemn. “Too late. So live up to it.” The <em>live</em> part was especially important. </p><p>Sylvain stared. As he often did when he got tired while Felix and him talked, but didn’t want to end the conversation. He stared, and Felix looked away, because he couldn’t quite take his eyes being on his for that long.“Well, how ‘bout you stay with me, then?” he asked. </p><p>Felix blinked. He wasn’t sure what else he could have been possibly trying to get Sylvain to ask for, though he felt foolish for not realizing that sooner. Still, he tried to act as he always did: terse.</p><p>“Are you capable of being quieter than Claude?” </p><p>“You’ll have to find out yourself,” Sylvain said, playing at cheeky, not quite getting there. Felix played at a glare in the same way, also not really getting there. It still brought Sylvain to raise his hands up and correct his earlier statement: “sure, sure, I’ll try.”</p><p>“Fine.” Felix turned back towards his door. “I’m going to change.” Sensing the doubt already creeping into Sylvain at Felix’s absence, Felix reiterated: “I’ll be there in a moment.”</p><p>Sylvain nodded, but more to convince himself. “Okay.” Then he beamed. “See you in a moment.”</p><p>Felix left Sylvain in the hall and walked into his own quarters. His desk neat. His window sill a mess of books. No light. He thought to grab his flint and steel to light his oil lamp, but he was only planning on being in his room for a moment and it would be a waste of time and materials. Instead, he walked around his room, his eyes adjusting to the gray-blue light and shadows. </p><p>Pulling open the drawer with his nightclothes, he saw his hands were shaking. The buzzing of his nerves had been easily ignored until now, but there was no denying it any longer. Felix chided himself and clenched his fists tight. He needed to be less emotional, since Sylvain couldn’t. Felix needed to steel himself, because it wasn’t fair to ask Sylvain to. </p><p>It was just, sleeping together in the same room felt intimate, even though they’d done it a hundred times before. After a night of intimate interactions, everything was in flux. It was exhausting, being this emotionally charged, and he really didn’t want to be anymore.</p><p>But Felix wouldn’t leave Sylvain now. </p><p>Ripping out the bun on top of his head, his long locks fell down and brushed against his shoulders and back, a large wavy bump in the center from how tight the knot had been in place. When he looked in the mirror he saw his father for a moment. He looked too much like him, with his hair down.</p><p>Even though Glenn had looked mostly like their father, too, Felix couldn’t help but think that he didn’t really look much like Glenn. Glenn had inherited his father’s blue eyes, the sincere smile that Felix never seemed to hold on his own mouth, a curl to his hair that Felix never had. </p><p>Felix was with his father and without his brother, even in his appearance. </p><p>That realization startled him, and Felix turned off that path of thoughts as quickly as he stepped onto it. Felix could not let his thoughts wander in such a way tonight. Tonight was about Sylvain. And he was quite pleased to think about how Miklan had taken after the Margrave Gautier, and how Sylvain didn’t really look like either, save their red hair.</p><p>Swiftly undressing and redressing in what Felix hoped was matching enough nightclothes, he gave himself one final look in the mirror. Ignoring earlier thoughts of his father, he took a deep breath. He looked like himself. And he was just himself, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. And all he was doing was going to someone else’s room who would expect nothing more and nothing less. Who knew him well. Often better than himself. </p><p>Oddly enough, that thought soothed him. He left his room without another thought, only caring to lock it up only because the professor had given him a ceremonial sword worth a bit of money, and made his way to Sylvain’s door. </p><p>He didn’t even have to knock. Sylvain pulled open the door and stood in his own nightclothes. Felix relieved Sylvain had opted to wear a shirt, for if he hadn’t Felix would have been reduced to a blushing mess. </p><p>“Not a liar yet,” Sylvain said softly, stepping aside. </p><p>Felix rushed by, wanting to get the awkward before-sleeping part over with. “Of course not. What would there be to lie about?” As he brushed against Sylvain, he caught his hand and began pulling him away from the door. "Let’s go to bed, at this rate the sun will be up before we close our eyes.” </p><p>“Alright, alright. Let me lock my door. Don’t know what fair maidens might try to come in while we sleep.” Felix knew he was waggling his eyebrows, so he didn’t even bother to look back. He strained out his fingers forcing himself to let go of Sylvain’s hand. </p><p>Then he crossed his arms to keep him from doing it again. </p><p>“To dump water on you, stab you, slap you, or all three? Yes, I would say locking the door <em>would</em> be a good idea.”</p><p>“So mean to me.” There was no heat in Sylvain’s voice though. It was painfully fond. It made Felix’s heart hurt in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge. </p><p>The hard thunk of the old lock settled into place, and Felix found himself staring at Sylvain’s desk. </p><p>Sylvain’s room was awfully neat. Neater than his own. Sylvain didn’t like messy things, liked everything more organized than anyone would give him credit for. His notes were cleanly written, his books were in some order Felix didn’t know but understood it had a system. It was though making a disaster of his personal affairs was mitigated by the fact that anything that could be called business was orderly.</p><p>Because everything was so neat, it was easy to spot that which was out of place. A liquor bottle, to start, a quarter drank. Less than Felix imagined, which had him wondering whether it was a newer bottle or if he didn’t give Sylvain enough credit. What really caught his eye, however, was a dagger. A dagger — a gift from Dimitri no doubt judging by the ornate handle — settled upright next to his letters. Anyone else glancing at it would think that he was using it as a letter opener, but Felix knew better. It was there in an act of contemplation, next to his papers meaning it was as commonplace as writing a note. </p><p>“What are you staring at?” </p><p>Sylvain likely knew exactly what he was staring at. With the way he was holding his breath, he was waiting for Felix to start another long tirade of bottled up emotions all detailing a pitiful command of <em>don’t you dare leave me alone. </em></p><p>Not like that. Not by his own hand. Not while Felix was around. Selfish, stupid, desperate, Felix would hate him forever if Sylvain made himself the pinnacle of an unnecessary death. </p><p>This was a discussion that needed to be had. There was a time where they needed to talk about the dagger, go over Sylvain’s self-destructive tendencies, of what may be a far more vast and crippling depression than even Felix was aware, but that time wasn’t now. Not tonight. </p><p>Soon, though.</p><p>“Nothing, I’m just tired.” He turned back towards Sylvain who was holding his lamp to him. The trembling smile that Sylvain gave in return expressed his relief enough. Felix grabbed the lamp and blew it out, almost chucking it on the window ledge, and then pulled Sylvain by his arm to follow him onto the mattress. </p><p>“Man, if women bedded me with the enthusiasm you do —“</p><p>“Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.” Felix wouldn’t, but the threat was well warranted, in his opinion. </p><p>“What sentence?” Felix turned to glare at him and found Sylvain grinning, big, broad, and bright. He bumped Felix's hip, Felix was pretty sure intentionally, and flopped on his back. To accommodate, Felix shifted onto his side to face him. “Been a while since we’ve done this.”</p><p>Felix hummed in agreement. Then he felt Sylvain’s arm against his, the back of his hand pressed against Felix’s, their fingers twitching not quite together but not apart either. </p><p>“Remember the last time?”</p><p>“We were going to repel bandits. You were soaking wet,” Felix noted. “Still not very clear on what exactly got you without a tent in the middle of the storm. Idiot."</p><p>Sylvain beamed at the insult, then dove into his explanation. “Hilda was with us, remember? The professor asked for her help?” Felix nodded. “Well, she asked me to set up her tent, which she knew was broken but I didn’t know that, and so I gave her mine without thinking. So I thought no harm, no foul, I’ll just sleep outside.”</p><p>Felix rolled his eyes. He did remember the story. Still, he didn’t mind Sylvain telling it again. “Even though there were storm clouds outside, and had been for the past hour of marching,” Felix chided.</p><p>“Nothing like a good rinse off before a battle.” It was a breezy statement, but Felix knew it was more that he didn’t want to be bother anyone after he’d been tricked by Hilda. Again. Like everyone else. How people forgot Hilda was as much a schemer as her leader was beyond Felix. </p><p>“Then you saw lightning —“</p><p>“And I high-tailed it to your tent and jumped into bed with you!” Sylvain nudged against him even more, his body warm and lulling. Only time Felix remembers it not being warm was that night in the storm, where Sylvain was both chilled by the rain and his unspoken fear of lightning. </p><p>Felix remembered perfectly. When he ran in and laughed too loudly, and talked too much. Not the usual talking too much, but rambling, his words having no real point to them, thoughts meandering. Felix had told him to sleep at the entrance like a guard or a dog, which Sylvain complied for about two seconds until saddling up next to Felix’s cot. And Felix let him. Felix let him because he would not stop his manic rambling, because though his laugh was too loud and fake, and he clung to Felix’s cot so hard he could feel Sylvain’s trembling.</p><p>Unable to handle it, Felix had pulled him up by his hair and threw him onto his cot with him. A pillow had been between them in the beginning. It was gone before morning. Sylvain pressed his face into the back of Felix’s neck, and it was the first and only time Sylvain’s presence had been like a blanket of snow and not a furnace. </p><p>There was no elaboration of all that, though, and Felix didn’t want to provide it anyway. Instead he said, “Hilda’s a mooch."</p><p>“She did apologize the next day.” Sylvain gave a weary sigh. “She is a mooch but she usually doesn’t try to do things like that.” Then Sylvain’s breathing grew heavy and slow, and the twitching of their fingers became more. Hands folding together, Felix felt Sylvain’s tremble like a numb tingle going up his arm, much like that night. When Felix turned to face him, Sylvain refused to meet his eye; instead he stared at the ceiling, his free hand propped behind his head, a practiced casual position.</p><p>Felix squeezed his hand tight, trying to confirm the action. To tell him that he didn’t have to pretend to be alright. To make sure that Sylvain knew he was okay with this, at least for now. </p><p>“You’re too good to me,” Sylvain whispered. </p><p>“I thought I was mean to you.”</p><p>“You are. But in a good way.” Felix’s eyebrows knotted. Sylvain chuffed. “It means you care."</p><p>“Of course I care. Don’t be an idiot.” </p><p>That made Sylvain grin, but his eyes looked sad all over again. “That’s exactly what I mean. If you stopped calling me an idiot, then I’d be in a world of trouble.”</p><p>“Who says you aren’t anyway?” </p><p>A low hum from Sylvain’s chest, a pleased but guilty sound. “I don’t mind if I’m in trouble <em>with</em> you.” <em>As long as its with you and not without you </em>was the sentiment that hung in the air, unable to be said. “In fact, I kind of like being in trouble with you.”</p><p>“Ugh. Go to sleep already.” Felix closed his eyes and turned away, but realized his hand was still being held in Sylvain’s big palm. He groaned and returned to facing Sylvain, but made it clear that he <em>was</em> trying to sleep now, and was thus ignoring him. </p><p>“Felix?”</p><p>And yet how was it that whenever Sylvain changed his tone ever so slightly, he could halt Felix’s conviction just like that?</p><p>“What?” </p><p>His gaze flickered back and forth, his eyelids drooping, but he didn’t seem like he was about to sleep. He was too tense for that. Shaking still prominent in just the grip of his hand. </p><p>“Sylvain, <em>what</em>?” </p><p>Sylvain turned to face him, looking him directly in the eyes, too bright and intense for Felix but he couldn’t look away. </p><p>“I’m glad you’re here.” This was said in less than a whisper. This was a creak in his lungs, a beat of his heart. This truth not admitted, but laid bare, in the way gashes and scratches in a sword displayed its use, the way faded script told of a book’s age, the way a ragged blanket made known it was loved. “I didn't want to be alone.” </p><p>“I know.” Felix scooted closer, finding that the trembling was not just in Sylvain’s arm, but throughout his whole body. </p><p>Sylvain was looking. Watching. It was the same expression he had looking outside after a day full of the first snowfall of Gautier, the land newly blanketed, the night and inspiration not gone but subdued into something quieter and a bit melancholy. The expression made Felix quirk an eyebrow. Sylvain smiled. </p><p>“Sleep,” Felix commanded. </p><p>“Getting there.” </p><p>With that Felix sighed. Gave Sylvain’s hand a big squeeze, then let go. Sylvain flinched, as though rejected, but Felix then trailed his hand from Sylvain’s palm to his arm, finding a place that would allow for more maneuverability when pulled. Tugging a bit roughly, Felix then reached his other arm around Sylvain and grabbed at his shoulder. With one hard pull — and a gasp from Sylvain — he had brought Sylvain on top of him, face in the crook of his neck, the man properly tucked underneath his chin. The arm on his shoulder he slung down his back, and the other he crept into Sylvain’s damp hair. </p><p>He had the full body shakes. Felix wasn’t sure if he’d made them worse or better, but with the way Sylvain’s chest hitched and he crept closer to Felix, he concluded that Sylvain didn’t mind the new position. </p><p>“Sleep.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Sylvain said into his neck, his voice awed and broken. He smelled like pond-water and dirt, but Felix smelled like pond-water and iron so together it was kind of an earthy smell. There was some shivers induced by Sylvain huddling into Felix’s throat, but Sylvain was so warm that the chills were swiftly snuffed out. Most of all, though, there was the weight of Sylvain on him, and his hands finding their way to a new spot: one, wrapped around Felix’s mid-back, and the other resting on the bridge between his hip and his waist. </p><p>Felix began tracing idle patterns into his back, similar to how Sylvain used to comfort him as a kid. He’d never really picked up his own form of comforting others — Felix was not seen much as a shoulder to cry on, thankfully — but he was a quick learner. The countless times Sylvain had consoled him as a child gave him a backlog of things he found relaxing that he could try to use; he was too stiff to be considered truly soft, so it lacked some effectiveness, but hopefully Sylvain knew the thought was there.</p><p>It seemed to be working. Sylvain gave a sort of faltered breath, all of his wound up tensities collapsing in on themselves. Felix pressed him closer to his chest. </p><p>“It’ll be better in the morning, Syl.” It was one of the few sappy sentiments that Felix actually believed in. Tomorrow was a new day, with new obstacles and opportunities. Distractions to drown out the gloom of yesterday, and a potential to make tomorrow more pleasant. “Go to sleep, and you’ll feel better in the morning."</p><p>His breaths grew deep, but not even, into Felix’s neck. Feeling overly warm, Felix’s face heated up, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Instead he carded his hand through Sylvain’s hair, twisting one of his orange locks around his finger.</p><p>Felix closed his eyes, breathing deep himself. Desire for sleep made Sylvain’s room sway in a way. It rocked like a boat, like a cradle, like a comfort. Sylvain smelled earthy and comforting, reminding Felix of the same aching-tired feeling he got after a good fight.</p><p>Sylvain remained still as a statute, but his breathing was a good reminder that he was well enough.</p><p>Another tip of the room, and Felix’s head lolled back on the pillow, about to drift off when Sylvain said:</p><p>“I love you Felix.” </p><p>It was a mumble into Felix’s neck, blurred by slow lips dragging over breath-damped skin, but the words were clear enough to understand. </p><p>The words cut quick as a blade, but they weighed on Felix heavy as a blow from an axe. Felix stilled. Natural action became unnatural: breathe, <em>in, out,</em> body growing rigid as a stone and heavy, heavy, as though he was going to try to anchor himself to the bed. </p><p>Thoughts moved slow through his head as he tried to rationalize what Sylvain was saying. But this wasn’t talking in his sleep, Sylvain was definitely still awake. That bottle on the desk had not been touched since Felix entered the room, and he couldn’t smell it on Sylvain’s breath or from his pores or in his sweat: he wasn’t drunk. There was no heavy hand and boisterous jest as he tried to make playful all too serious things. </p><p>Knowing that Sylvain said what he said without being somehow incapacitated made Felix’s bones turn to ice. </p><p>“I love you Felix.” The second time he said it did not bring clarity. Did not prompt a response, there was no natural instinct ingrained in Felix to know how to react to such things. Love had been rejected from his life thus far, it was not allowed in. He was a roughshod replacement for his brother in his father’s eyes, and the memory of Glenn’s brotherly affection had spoiled like rotten fruit, syrupy sick-sweet that so many indulged in that gave Felix a stomach ache. Love left Felix cold. </p><p>As if trying to rebuke that without words, Sylvain moved, slow, to rest his head against Felix’s chest over his heart. There’d be no mistaking it now, Felix’s heart was so <em>loud</em>, raucous like Sylvain’s false laughter, crashing in his ears. </p><p>Sylvain's forehead made a hollow thud against Felix's sternum. This time the words were pressed in between his collarbones. “I love you Felix.” The warmth in the words fanning out along his frigid skin. </p><p>Sentiments he wanted to express dug their heels into Felix’s chest, unwilling to come out. Panic welled, humiliating pricks to his eyes as he scrambled to think what to do. His thoughts were scattered, and knowing nothing of coherency would come after it, Felix still blurted, “Syl —“ </p><p>But he was stopped. Sylvain, in all of his infinite knowledge, seemed to know responding was something Felix couldn’t handle. Sliding his hand from Felix’s waist to his mouth, he shook his head against his chest and tapped his fingers against his mouth to stop him from talking. Then he said it again, “I love you Felix,” and dragged his hand back to the position at his waist. </p><p>Though he was mumbling it into Felix’s skin, Sylvain seemed to be taking care to make sure that each word was clear enough to be understood. There would be no mistaking the “<em>I</em>” or the “<em>you</em>”, or exactly who “<em>you</em>” was because he would always say “<em>Felix</em>”. Always made sure the word “<em>love</em>” was just a little louder than the rest. </p><p>And he continued saying it. Quietly, murmurs, the way a church song repeats its chorus over and over and over at the end of a service, and yet this felt more like devotion than any monotonous tune the caterwauling choir sang in the Church of Seiros. </p><p>Felix gripped him harder, a bit too hard, all in the hopes that his movements were enough to rock Sylvain into a slumber. He continued stroking his back, combing through his hair, and resting his chin on top of Sylvain’s head. Underneath, if Felix couldn’t hear the words “I love you Felix,” he could feel them by the vibrations and the movement of Sylvain’s jaw. </p><p>Sylvain made him feel as though he was lying next to a hearth, a home, somewhere safe and sound as he spoke what Felix thought was an unattainable kindness into his skin. A comfort Felix had not been given the chance to indulge in in some time, and part of Felix <em>yearned</em>. He wanted to bury himself in Sylvain’s arms and wrap himself around him and pretend that the whole world saw him the way Sylvain did. Pretend that the only person who made space for Felix in their life was Sylvain, and not because of an obligation, a duty, a bloodline, a gravestone, but because Sylvain wanted him as he always did, and Felix could occupy that space without feeling the pull of anyone else. That Sylvain could be Felix’s home and in turn Felix could be a home for Sylvain. </p><p>But Felix’s homes always came undone. Whether they crumbled or were stripped away from him or were said goodbye to, they always unraveled. The dagger on the desk, the bottle of liquor, the pale cold face as Sylvain pressed his face into Felix’s back on that stormy night, they were as much a part of the “<em>I love you Felix</em>” as the rest of Sylvain, warm and inviting as the rest of him was. Felix had to remember that. </p><p>And Felix was scared to death.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Talk to me about fe3h and other things at either twitter: https://twitter.com/ArtesiaMinor , or curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/ArtesiaMinor</p></blockquote></div></div>
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